Psyche
by bootybertholdt
Summary: To obtain greatness, any semblance of humanity must be sacrificed. But once that's gone, what do you have left?


_**Notes:**_ Before you read on, I want to warn you that this contains spoilers for anyone who is not currently caught up with the manga. Anyway,_ m_y love for Bertolt has grown to uncontrollable levels and I needed a way to express this feeling before I exploded, so this is the product of that. I'm planning on this being a collection of short drabbles about all the Titan shifters and their mental states during various times in their lives. The first one focuses on my baby Bertolt because he's a precious little angel. But I hope you enjoy and if you have any suggestions, feel free to tell me about them. /throws glitter at you all

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**Monster**

Lifeless brown eyes stared blankly up into the torn sky, unseeing, unfeeling, and unmoving. A thunderous crash resounded in the air and reverberated into the very depths of the earth; the vibrations travelling up into the feet of the mourning soldiers strewn across the field, all tightly grasping at their souls' seams in an attempt to keep any semblance of composure.

Amongst the hunched figures, walked a large physique— strong, wide, firmly planted in life. His sharp jaw clenched tightly down, teeth grinding together just like the bones of the soldiers as they fell to their death. Green eyes softened as he looked on the mass of corpses littering the ground— there were too many, and it was all his fault.

No one told him that it would feel like this; that the overbearing sadness and guilt would build up so much until it felt like he would drown in the blood relentlessly pouring from his opened palms. This was supposed to be easy. He knew that what they were doing was right— it had to be right, Annie and Reiner had said so. Then why was he left with this empty feeling at the end of the day? A feeling so hollow that it gnawed at his insides causing him to scratch until his consciousness was raw.

Sleep used to be his only escape, but now, he was lucky if his brain stopped its torture for an hour so that he could just rest his eyes for a bit. He was just so tired— tired of keeping up appearances, of sharing a room with someone on his death list, of seeing Annie slowly falling apart and not being able to do anything about it. It was just all too much.

As Bertolt helped Jean carry half a body to the cart, he had to push down the stirring feeling of revulsion. _He did this._ With just one swipe of his hand, he killed this many people. He destroyed so many dreams, so many lives, so many bright _futures_ in the blink of an eye. What was he turning into that death seemed so trivial to him? Shouldn't he have stopped before this all happened? How could he muster up the strength to wipe away the very existence of someone without a second thought?

_You're a monster_.

Bertolt whipped his head towards the body he was holding. Had it just—?

_You killed me, you coward. You killed me with those bloody hands._

No, it couldn't be talking to him. It was dead. He knew it was because he's the one who broke the spine, felt each vertebra splinter into tiny, fractured pieces.

_Monster. Monster. You're nothing but a monster._

He couldn't take this anymore. It was all too much; he was going mad. The guilt, so unbearable before, had thrust itself out of his mind and had manifested in the real world. He couldn't escape it, no matter how hard he tried. He was haunted now— haunted by the pained groans of his comrades as he ripped them in two, haunted by the surprised, despairing look each one made seconds before their death, but mostly, he was haunted by the eyes. Large, glassy eyes quietly stared at him at all times— in the dark, in the light, with company, and when he was alone; the eyes that accused him of being a monster.

Bertolt quickly dropped the body into the already full cart—so many, _too_ many—, and took hurried steps away from the camp. Not stopping until he heard the welcomed sound of rushing water, he bolted towards the edge of the river and keened over, spilling out the sparse contents of his stomach. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, Bertolt peered into the glassy surface and was met with his reflection staring back. Green eyes narrowed in derision and lips parted into a feral snarl.

_ Monster…_


End file.
